


A Birthday to End All Birthdays

by Scrunyuns



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: But mostly fluff, M/M, birthday fic, numbers has no fucking idea about good bday presents lmao, some homophobic and ableist language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 21:43:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3826111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunyuns/pseuds/Scrunyuns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Numbers has always given Wrench shitty presents. This year he's determined to rectify that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Birthday to End All Birthdays

**Author's Note:**

  * For [periken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/periken/gifts).



> For Perri, who is the bee's knees and the cat's pajamas and the dog's bollocks. We're doing an art trade but I'm a slowpoke when it comes to drawing, so here's a fic for him by way of an apology :-) Hope you like it, hon!

Numbers' presents for his partner have always been abysmal. Last year's birthday present was a sweater that turned out to be too snug and really itchy, the year before that a melonballer (which actually came in handy when intimidating people, so it was't all bad), the year before that a novelty singing fish, and the year before that a new jacket. The implication that Wrench should throw away his fringed jacket did not go down well, and Numbers had been in the doghouse for a week after that little faux pas.

His Christmas presents have not been anything worth mentioning, either. Last year Numbers gave his partner a chocolate fountain, the year before that a bottle of vodka (which would have been nice if Numbers hadn't ended up drinking most of it) and for the first Christmas they'd spent together he'd given him a Garfield mug that said 'I hate Mondays'. Wrench had picked it up like it was a dog turd on a stick, giving his partner a look as if it say _'are you fucking kidding me'._

 _You can drink coffee from it!_ Numbers had signed enthusiastically, nudging him in the shoulder. _You love coffe!_

The next day he'd woken up to find the wretched thing in the trash.

Wrench's birthday presents for Numbers, however, have been nothing short of superb. It's usually practical stuff - a new gun, silencer, switchblade, brass knuckles, that kind of thing - which is always greatly appreciated, but occasionally he'll go all out and get him something to show him just how much he cares: Numbers once told his partner that he'd always wanted to learn how to play the drums, and so Wrench got him a drumkit. He once told him he'd never seen the sea, having been born and raised too far inland, so Wrench took him on a road trip to the West Coast, going from Washington through Oregon, down to California and past the border of Mexico. Numbers will never forget that trip.

Needless to say, he feels like he needs to step it up. So this year, he's decided, Wrench's birthday will be the birthday to end all birthdays. No more half-hearted attempts.

This year's present? A hearing aid.

Inspiration comes to him in the form of a viral video that his mom e-mailed him. Ever since she figured out how to use the internet, she has been sending him YouTube links constantly. Usually he doesn't click the link, but this time the subject line said 'a video u might like cause ur bf is deaf'.

 _'Bf'... Boyfriend?_ Numbers thinks. _Since when did she start using internet lingo?_ And he can't recall having told his mom that they're an item... although he did bring him over for a family gathering that one time and they may or may not have looked at each other in a certain way and bickered like a married couple throughout dinner.

"That woman is a fucking psychic", he mutters to himself as he clicks the link.

The video shows a woman holding a baby. Apparently the baby is deaf, and a doctor has fixed a hearing aid onto the child's ear. He turns it on, and for a moment the baby shows no sign of reaction - but then the mother speaks.  
Now, Numbers is not a man who is easily moved to tears. But the look on that baby's face when he hears his mother's voice for the first time... well, that's just too damn much.

The hearing aid is fucking expensive and he knows that Wrench isn't really all that keen on it anyway; Numbers has brought it up a few times ("You know, technology is so advanced now, and hey, maybe it would make our job easier") but Wrench just shakes his head.

 _I've been deaf my whole life,_ he'll say. _I don't need sound. I like silence, I'm used to silence._

Numbers has to respect his decision. But now that he's seen this video, he's opened Pandora's Box and his mind is made up: He really wants Wrench to know the sound of his voice.

\---

There's an argument, of course, when they get to the doctor's office and Numbers finally has to fess up.

 _I thought we were going to IHOP for breakfast!_ Wrench signs, arms chopping at the air like a pair of axes. _I can't believe you!_

 _Please,_ Numbers signs back. _It'll be good, I promise._

_I told you, I don't want one!_

_I know, I just want you to try it. It's my birthday present to you. I spent a lot of money on it. Please?_

Wrench glares at him. _I would have been happier with another godawful Garfield mug._

 _If you don't like it,_ Numbers explains, starting to lose his patience, _you don't have to use it. You can take it off._

 _I'll look like an old geezer!_ Wrench signs, arms akimbo, the fringes on his jacket dancing.

_Is that really any worse than looking like Midnight Cowboy in that fucking jacket?_

_You're one to talk, with that bulletproof hair!_ Wrench signs, hands going at a thousand miles per hour. _My jacket is rad. And you're just trying to change me. You want to take my awesome jacket and put a stupid hearing aid on me. Make me look like a tool. Do you have any idea how insulting it is to push a hearing aid on a deaf person?_

 _What?_ Numbers signs. _You're going too fast._

 _I like myself the way I am,_ Wrench signs, slower now. _But you want to change me. It's fucking rude._

Numbers takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself. If he doesn't, he might say something he'll regret. The last thing he needs is for Wrench to walk off in a foul mood and come back to him hours later, still sulking and unwilling to talk. For a guy who hardly ever shows emotion he sure knows how to sulk, and there's something particularly guilt-inducing about getting the silent treatment from guy who never actually makes a sound.

Worst case scenario, Wrench walks off and doesn't come back at all. Time to turn on the charm.

 _Look, I'm not trying to change you,_ he starts.  _Promise. I love our secret language. I love how we can talk shit about people right in front of them. I love how we can say dirty stuff to each other in public. I don't want that to change. And it doesn't have to, you know, we can still use ASL whenever you want. But you will like this, I promise. Now, come on._

 _I won't,_ Wrench signs, but he follows Numbers all the same.

The atmosphere in the small doctor's office is stifling; Wrench glaring daggers at his partner, Numbers looking apologetic, the poor doctor trying to lighten the mood by cracking jokes that don't land well at all.

 _Alright, we should be all set,_ the doctor signs after she's fixed the device to Wrench's ear. _I'll turn it on now. It shouldn't be too loud. Ready?_

Wrench nods reluctantly, still glaring at Numbers.

"Happy birthday" are the first words he hears, and the frown quickly gives way to wide eyes and a slack jaw.

Then, "I love you."

Wrench hears himself breathing, feels his heart thumping in his chest. If he couldn't see Numbers' mouth and hands he wouldn't know what these strange noises meant, but now he knows what love sounds like. He finally hears Numbers' laugh, a weird and wonderful sound.

Outside, on their way back to the car, Wrench grabs Numbers' arm. He wants to stop and listen for a bit; birds chirping, trees blowing in the wind, cars honking, children laughing and hollering, all the sounds of the world.

\---

Wrench had heard music before, kind of. When Numbers listens to the radio in the car, he will turn up the bass so that Wrench can feel the vibrations - even if it's music that he personally _loathes._

Today he takes him to a record shop. Wrench marvels at the music over the stereo in the shop.

 _You like that?_ Numbers asks.

Wrench nods.

"Hey," Numbers calls the clerk over. "What's this? This music?"

"It's, uh, it's Radiohead," the girl says, giving Wrench a look. His hands are in his pockets, head back, eyes closed.

"Uhhh... the album's Amnesiac. I think."

"We'll take it," Numbers says, digging out a wad of cash from his wallet.

"The album?"

"All their albums. It's his birthday."

They listen to it in the car. Wrench prefers the songs with a dominant drum beat. It's not really to Numbers' tastes - too whiny and arty farty, he's more of a Queens of the Stone Age man himself - but Wrench seems to really enjoy Thom Yorke's crooning, even if he can't understand a word of it. Numbers is surprised; with that jacket of his, you'd think Wrench was a country kinda guy. _Dolly Parton, maybe? Man, I don't fucking know._ Despite having lived most of his life in The Midwest, Honky Tonk Central, Numbers doesn't know the first thing about country music.

 _Is that a woman singing, or a man?_ Wrench asks.

"A man," Numbers replies, now using both his voice and his hands. "He just has a really... high-pitched voice for a man."

_Is your voice normal for a man?_

"Well... kind of. Some people have told me it's annoying. Nasal."

_Fuck them. I think your voice is great._

"Thanks."

 _I don't know what men's and women's voices are supposed to sound like,_ Wrench explains. _The difference, I mean. I read somewhere that a man's voice is usually darker. But that means nothing to a deaf man._

"Now you can hear just fine, though."

 _Yes,_ Wrench signs and takes his partner's hand in his. _Just fine._

\---

In the evening they go to mass at the local Catholic church to hear the choir. Numbers has only ever seen the inside of a church on a couple of occasions, friends' weddings and such, but Wrench used to go all the time as a child.

 _Sometimes by force, sometimes by choice,_ he signs. _And sometimes because my dad was drunk and kicked me out of the house. Had nowhere else to go._

Numbers frowns. Hearing about Wrench's shitty dad always makes him want to punch something - preferably Wrench Senior's ugly face, but a wall usually does the trick.

 _Don't look so sad,_ Wrench signs, _it's ancient history._

"I'm not sad, I'm pissed off. Doesn't it make you sad to be here?"

_No. It's kind of nice._

They've got seats almost at the front so that Wrench can read the priest's lips. When the choir starts singing, he gasps. He leans on the back of the seat in front, hands clasped over his mouth, eyes transfixed.

"Something wrong?" Numbers asks.

Wrench turns around to look at him. _What?_

 _What's wrong?_ Numbers signs.

_Nothing. It's just that they sound like angels._

Numbers is tempted to be snarky and tell him that angels are about as real as unicorns and thus wouldn't really sound like anything, but just this once he decides to hold his tongue.

\---

After mass they head over to a scungy pub across the road from the church. _Perfect location_ , Numbers muses, _a watering hole for the on-again-off-again repentant sinners. Absolve yourself of your sins, then cross the road and carry on sinning. What a business model!_

Wrench wants to listen to people talking. And anyway, Numbers could do with a drink after listening to the priest rabbit on about sin and judgement and hellfire and eternal damnation. _Catholics sure are a gloomy bunch._ Thankfully he'd skipped that whole bit with "if a man lays with another man you should cut off his head" or whatever the phrase is. But still.

They order a bite to eat and make a bit of conversation with the bartender and other patrons, but their joy is shortlived. One of the more inebriated barflies asks if Wrench is "some kind of retard", and Numbers responds the only way he knows how - by beating the tar out of the guy.

The bartender is quick to call the cops, and Wrench is equally quick to drag his partner out of there.

\---

On their way back to the car they walk through one of the town's busier areas, Korean take-out in hand. Wrench discreetly slips his hand into Numbers' and is surprised to find that, for once, his partner doesn't reject the PDA. Apparently it wasn't discreet enough, though, as it invites the second verbal affront of the day.

"Faggots!" a drunken man who can barely stand up shouts at them as they pass.

Numbers stops in his tracks.

 _What did he say?_ Wrench asks.

 _F-A-G-G-O-T-S,_ Numbers spells out.

They share a single look, and know what they have to do.

"Your mother mustn't have raised you right," Numbers says as he saunters up to the inebriate, lifting his coat to the side to reveal his handgun. "You wanna repeat yourself?"

"I- I didn't..." the stranger stammers, regret etched on his face. "I didn't say nuthin'..."

"Really?" Numbers chirps, flashing a razor-sharp grin. "Oh, well then I guess I must have misheard you. Because, heh, I could have sworn you called us faggots! And here I was going to pistolwhip you." He pats the man on the back a touch too hard, eliciting from him a nervous laugh.

"But you see," he continues as he leans closer and puts an arm around him, "I'm not sure my partner here is entirely convinced. I think he looks pretty pissed off, wouldn't you say?"

Wrench drops the take-out bags and cracks his massive knuckles. This is his go-to scare tactic; it may be cheesy, but it always seems to turn men into snivelling little boys.

"Now, I don't wanna scare you or anything," Numbers blatantly lies, gesturing to his partner, "but what this guy lacks in hearing he makes up for with asswhooping. I've seen him castrate a man with his bare hands on more than one occasion."

He mimicks the action with his free hand and his mouth makes a noise like a nutcracker.

"You know, heheh, my pet name for him is Captain Crunch."

The stranger is now sweating profusely.

 _I'm going to hang your balls from my rear view mirror,_ Wrench signs at the guy.

Numbers chuckles.

"Wha... what did he say?" the stranger squeaks.

"Buddy, you don't wanna know..."

Numbers sniffs the air.

"What's that smell? Is that..? Did you just piss yourself?"

He looks down to find a wet line on the stranger's jeans, running from the crotch and down his thighs, piss pooling at his shoes.

"Oh-hoh wow, you did," Numbers laughs as the stranger hangs his head in shame. "How embarrassing for you."

 _Chickenshit,_ Wrench signs at the drunkard.

He picks up the takeout bag and takes Numbers hand in his, this time demonstrative rather than discreet. As they press on down the street, he notices his partner looking at him.

_What?_

_You are perfect,_ Numbers signs.

It's Friday night, a time when the scummier parts of the city comes alive in all its dubious glory; music blaring, dogs barking, hookers hooting, drunkards shouting, glass breaking, car alarms wailing, the sounds of the world at night. It's all becoming too much for Wrench. Numbers helps him turn off his hearing aid.

By the time their car finally pulls into the parking lot outside their apartment building Wrench is out cold, the numerous new impressions of the day having left him exhausted. Numbers would gladly carry him if he wasn't so damn enormous; in stead he just shakes him into semi-consciousness and leads him by the hand up to their apartment, through the door, and into bed.

\---

Numbers wakes up on the morning of the next day to Wrench planting small, feather-light kisses on his face.

"Well, good morning..."

 _I have a surprise for you,_ Wrench signs. _I know your birthday is months away, but I wanted to return the favor._

"Favor?"

Wrench clears his throat. Out of his mouth comes something that sounds a lot like 'I love you.'

 _It's not perfect yet,_ he signs. The sound of his own voice still seems foreign to him, too soft. _I've been practising a lot, though._

"It's great," Numbers says as he signs the words, beaming. "Best early birthday present ever."

 _I've been up all morning watching TV,_ Wrench explains, _listening to people talk, picking up a few words. I was channel surfing and I came upon something that didn't really look or sound quite right, and then I realized it wasn't even English. It was one of those Mexican shows._

Numbers laughs. "Telenovella?" he says.

Wrench frowns, failing to read his lips. _I don't know that word._

"It's Spanish. For 'crappy television', I believe."

To the untrained eye, Wrench's face is blank. But by now Numbers has gotten to know all his partner's microexpressions, and he identifies this one as a smile.

 _Maybe you can help me with my speaking sometime?_ Wrench asks. _In English, of course._

"Sure. I'd love to."

 _Thanks for talking me into this,_ Wrench signs, pointing to his ear.

"No problem."

_Say it again._

"What?"

_Say 'I love you'. Say it with your voice._

"I love you," Numbers says, and signs the words for good measure, making Wrench smile again.

_That's my favorite sound, I think._

Numbers laughs.

 _Second only to that sound,_  he adds, pulling Numbers in for a kiss.  _I've got another present for you._

"Yeah? What's that?"

Wrench simply raises one eyebrow and runs a big hand down Numbers' bare, hairy chest, down his stomach, further.

"You're depraved," Numbers whispers, a big shit-eating grin on his face. "You gonna wear the hearing aid for this? You don't have to wear it all the time, you know. You can take it off."

 _Not for this,_ Wrench signs with a smirk. _I want to know what you sound like._

"Trust me," Numbers says, blushing at the thought, "my sex voice is as bad as, or perhaps even worse than my sex face."

_Yeah, your sex face is pretty bad._

"Hey now hold on just a minute, I'm the only one allowed talk shit about my sex face!"

Wrench does that thing where he laughs without a sound.

 _Maybe I'll draw the curtains_ , _so I can focus only on your voice._ _I bet you sound great. I want you to be really noisy._

"Make me."

_Don't think I won't._

**Author's Note:**

> Then they bang all day, and all that shit in Bemidji and Duluth never ever happened ever THE END


End file.
